Beginning to Dire End
by KiraCaseAgent
Summary: Mituna faced the Condesce at a slave auction. She demanded the last psiioniic on the whole Beforus market. How will he handle her problems throughout the beginning to dire end?
1. Beginning

"Sold! To the purple-blood nobility in the 2nd row!" called the nicely dressed, long-horned troll. Unleashed, uncuffed, and unbound, a blue-blood lumbered down the steps to meet his master. The highblood was only a level above his slave's caste; which was a rare sight. Surely, a hefty price was paid - though, it was worth it. The said slave was younger than many on the walk, and already he was stronger than three oxes. He was seated, and the chains were tugged to bring a new group of boys. After only three seconds, people gasped and wove boonbucks in the air. Some were wildly jumping in the front row, the animals.

"Now, now. I know you're excited, but please settle down." the caller calmed. He gracefully moved his hand to present another young troll. "I see you're all curious about this one. Let me present to you his features and a bit of his background. This boy's pre-adult name is Mituna Captor. His master may rename him upon buying the rights. He is five-sweeps-old, ninety-nine pounds, and has had a pre-existing case of brain trauma. As you all have already caught on, he is a psiioniic. Probably among one of the last - they're highly endangered. His teeth are well taken care of, and his fangs are sharp as daggers. He is five-foot four, and his exquisite, rare double horns are three inches for the small and six for the tall. Oh, and he is a virgin. He is in very good shape, besides his weight. That should be an easy fix, right?" He smiled, preparing his cards for his background. The currently advertised troll was adorning only baggy brown pants. Well, that and an assortment of chains. He cried proud yellow tears, looking among the crowd - they were almost drooling, snagging and clenching all of the heavy bucks they own. All just to use him as a tool.

"Alright! You see, little Mituna here lived alone in his hive with his lusus, a biclops..."

_He ran to the roof with blood padding down his short black hair. Some of it had already caked, as he spent a long time crying over it in the forbidden green field. He had crashed into a tree head-on while riding his skateboard. He was driven out by multiple beasts who had smelled his low blood. "Biclops! Biclops!" he wailed, burying his fluffed, unhelmeted hair into his lusus' chest. It wasn't very hard to spot the bright liquid on his head. Mituna was comforted as Biclops washed it away._

_"I was near the Condescension's place." He frowned. Naturally, he was admitting of many things he did. Though, he knew not to go to Sassacre's memorial place, as the empress guarded it tightly with vicious lusii. It was easy to spot the boundaries; it was the only domain on Beforus that had lush, green, earthly grass._

_Soon enough, the lusii had led a search group to Mituna's hive. Shocked to see a psiioniic, they tore him from the safety of a new fierce biclops. Mituna kicked and cried, grabbing for his 'dad.' Some non-supporting columns were thrown almost impeccably close to the hunters. But they were gone. This fate is inevitable for any psiioniic._

No one ever seemed to give much care when it came to a troll's harsh history. They simply conjured the sleepiest of faces during those times. "Questions?" the caller inquired, surveying the packed room for hands. The same purple-blood who had just bought the last slave nodded, saying, "Why does he have all of those scars? Some of them are fresh." This was an important question indeed. It was typical for rebellious ones to be whipped. Even if this particular boy looked meek and helpless, people know not to judge a book by its cover. "Ah, that. Well, he was screaming and flailing for his lusus all the way here. Just some transportation mishaps, Highblood." he assured. The market really raises for an obedient troll - and an obedient psiioniic made the crowd crazy. "I see we're ready for bidding, then! Let's start him off at one-hundred boonbucks."

"100." started the Highblood.

"100, do I hear 150? 150, anyone, 150 for this fine troll?"

"150!" called a cerulean lady of the higher classes.

"200-!"

"500!" roared the Highblood.

"600!" retorted the cerulean.

"15,000,000 boonbucks."

Everyone looked to the back of the room, and with a start, they stood. Small taps of a trident echoed down the aisle. "E-Empress!" The caller kneeled, as did all of the others. "Give me that troll," she demanded, throwing copious amounts of Beforus currency onto the stand from her Sylladex. Mituna cast his glance over to her, tears still welled in his eyes. He inhaled sharply, slightly flexing his skinny chest. Her stare was piercing.

Mituna was released and led over to the Condesce. She examined each and every one of his physical attributes before leaving. He was escorted by a leather leash to a spaceship, marked noticeably with the Crocker Corp. symbol. It was fuming with black composites that stained the air. It was clear that the empress was wealthy, but the ship was in such bad shape. "C'mon, lowblood - you're gonna be my power source for quite a while. That stupid Handmaid ran my baby all across space, so it's outta gas." she explained. The Condesce's accent wasn't at all royal; rather, it was quick and slurred together. Everything she uttered sounded like a complaint. She placed her hand on the pink outer shell of 'her baby.'

Mituna was freed of his collar once the door closed, and Condesce brought him to a cord-like stretcher surrounded by self-managing supercomputers. "Alright, into position." she commanded. Mituna, confused and frightened, stepped into the open device. "We should name you. You look adult enough." She pressed a small button on the keyboard and the stretcher came alive, wiring itself around the yellow-blood's arms and legs. Eventually, it stopped at his torso - a helmet-like set of cords enveloping his face, besides his orifices. The chain of cords wrapped tightly around the light yellow set of six triangles along his sides (this is where his legs had fallen off as a wiggler). All of this new feeling brought him to suffering screams. The device was beginning to pull his arms higher while his feet were pasted to the floor of the ship. "We'll name you The Helmsman."


	2. Star Grazers

_Hey, incase you were wondering - "But Mituna is free! And he's nineteen-years-old in-comic!" Welcome to Homestuck: The Land of Timelines and Bullshit. A lot of you people don't know that there are alternate stories for the same character. These are one of those stories; The Psiioniic's._

**ENTER HELMSMAN: EIGHT SWEEPS OLD (SEVENTEEN YEARS OLD)**

We zoom forward three sweeps (seven years) into his story. At this point in time, he had grown almost attached to his stretcher. Even so, he managed to trudge along the empress's ship through space at the speed of light. Nothing much has changed since his first arrival, when he was but five sweeps old. He did discover, however, that The Condesce was being attacked quite frequently. He had to endure the hits for her vessel in order for it to stay in the warp space. To him... her enemy was fascinating. Truly a spectacle. Despite that he had his health deteriorated by her vicious advances, he always enjoyed watching her glide seamlessly among the stars. Even then she stood out.

The Handmaid rose her wandkind, not stupid enough to go straight for the power source. Surely it would be guarded. Her eyes had a natural glow (no, really) and they twinkled in and out of view. It was as if they were being stalked by a panther hidden in the bushes. As anyone knows, the pelt of a panther is just a pleasant distraction from his imminent killing. "I'll give you one more chance to hand it over," she said calmly, her darkened face once again imitating that beautiful animal. Condesce's cynical laughter filled the room as she flipped a switch down. The Helmsman was stretched further, and his psiioniics fueled the beams to be shot at the post-scratch incarnation of Damara. She was recently demanding rule over Beforus. Nobody yet knew why she wanted such a thing - but nonetheless, trying to take any smidgen of authority from Her Imperial Condescension was a battle in itself. "Bring it on, whore!" she cackled in a vain attempt at making the red-blood feel inferior. Though, her pride was already too contempt to be broken.

A blast of red here, a bomb of pink there... that's how the fight proceeded for hours. Out in the open, it was obvious that the lone one had received the most damage. She was exhausted, and in a crude yet simple manner, she flipped The Condesce off, huffing like a spoiled kid who did not get the brand they wanted. The Handmaid flew herself out of the picture in an elegant poise that was unbefitting of her vulgar nature. The Helmsman himself was tired. Her attacks were harsh. "Well, she's gone! … Hey! Don't hold your breath, you pathetic lowblood! We have to get across the warp in time. I have planets to conquer." She took the liberty in not only saying this, but slapping The Helmsman's sleepy self around.

He thought about The Handmaid. Her daunting personality was familiar to The Condesce's - it was a true wonder why they aren't friends. Together, they could accomplish the domination of several universes in a single perigree. It was the seventh bilunar perigree of the first dim season's equinox, by the way. This is a rare occasion, since there are many less of these than dark seasons. During the dim seasons, the green sun's light would protrude and provide a less eye-straining environment. It's true that the troll species is partially nocturnal, but the widening of their pupils tend to hurt them after a while.

The Helmsman always caught glimpses of things other than stars and milky-ways when he looked out of the window. It can range from supernovas to elite space wars. He never missed The Handmaid when she passed by, as many do. Her whole body was a quick silhouette, blending into the bleak of the outer-atmosphere. Her eyelashes would always be dark red and easy to spot - sometimes they were even a little glittery. They were fairly feathered out. Her mouth was fine and smallish, so he didn't bother to look for that particular attribute. Though, her outfit was the thing that stood out the most. With glowing green lace-like materials lining down her dress, it wasn't hard to spot. Above all else, his favorite things about The Handmaid remained her hypnotic eyes and her irregular horns that spun like galaxies. Of course, he would never get to speak to this maiden. As a self-fulfilling honor to this woman, he had always called her something along the lines of Stargrazer. She was just fascinating to him.


	3. Meeting Royalty

The peasant-blood was gone now. The little light of pleasure and curiosity was extinguished once again from The Helmsman, and he was prepared to cut his life short. For a while, he considered biting down on his tongue and hoping to lose enough blood to die. There was nothing on the other side for him – no bubbles, no dead trolls he knew. It was going to be a bleak afterlife, but one without suffering. A way that he would rather be. He overheard that The Condesce was going to invite high-bloods to her ship once she had landed. It was possible that they would observe her new slave. The Psiioniic is so rare, that if he doesn't reproduce in his lifetime (which, at this point, was predicted) then the whole species would be wiped out. The chromosomes, even if he managed to participate in pailing day, would have to work in his ability's favor.

A troll with able psychic powers would increase the possibility with him. (No psychics + psiioniics = 25% chance. Psychics + psiioniics = 50%. Powerful psychics + psiioniics = 75%.) The imperial drones offered the suggestion to free him for just pailing day and then choosing him a gifted mate. The empress was still thinking it over; for psychic abilities seemed to show exuberantly in just high-bloods. The possibility of a high-blooded psiioniic was too much of a risk. It would have enough power to overthrow the empire. "Land the ship, Helmsman." called The Condesce. Slowly, the slave minimized his power to do so.

And then… they boarded. A tyrian-blood entered first. He has fins on his neck and a shark's glare. Following him was the tall indigo-blood from the auction. Blood caked his hair and nails; ceremonial face paint smudged with the intent to look sinister. The servant that he had bought paced inside with caution, looking over his surroundings. The Condesce giggled and whispered, "The other two should be fun." The Helmsman wondered what she meant. He soon discovered the answer to his own inquiry. A click of heels sounded on the stone landing pad. The cerulean-blood stepped into the room with an annoyed look on her face. "Mrs. Spinneret," announced Dualscar, the tyrian. They each exchanged very snide looks. "Ah, and the demon herself!"

It was the teal-blood they had observed. Her poise was professional and elegant – as if she were a princess. She held her head high, looking precariously at Mindfang. In fact, Mindfang's only ally here is Darkleer, Grand Highblood's slave.

The Helmsman's heart stopped. Not because there people are the collection of the most dangerous and feared, but because he recognized one of the many incarnations. He couldn't believe his eyes. He nervously bit his lip. He could only see through the arch; they hadn't yet noticed him. It was a past matesprit that he had chosen from the small crowd. Her fine stature was incoherent to her past.

Bound against the threshold of pink tentacles and red computers, he wasn't very well visualized. It was infinitely frustrating. He veered his attention to the rounded windows. Ample time was given for his quaint curiosity; marveling the same stars he'd passed on nearly millions of occasions.

"Now, I understand we may not be friends – we might even have some enemies in this room. I want you to stop thinking about that. I'm talking to _you_, Marquise Spinneret Mindfang and Privateer Orphaner Dualscar. Don't act like children. We won't talk about what happened last time." The Condesce chimed. The tyrian and cerulean blood looked menacingly at each other, "No problem," finalized the Marquise, looking away from her foe's yellow-purple eyes.

"I assume you guys know about the rebellion that the low-bloods are egging on." Condesce began.

"One that your mud-blooded matesprit wrought." mumbled Dualscar, a smug glance shifting over to Mindfang.

"No fighting. Damn. It's only been two seconds. Anyway, we need to stop them. Do you want low-bloods to have a say in our system? They can barely function without us! Imagine, instead of I, there would be The Summoner – ruling as an emperor. We would be degraded to rampant animals!"

Nodding their heads, the high-bloods agreed in tandem. "You see, if low-bloods were even accounted for, they would be represented as part of the population, correct?" Again, they showed their understanding. "Well, the more numbers included in a population of people, the more imperial drones would have to be dispatched. To make those drones, your pay to the empire would increase. Do you know how expensive _one_ drone is? First-hand producing, it's around 12,000 boonbucks. _Bucks_, not dollars. We have six high-bloods in our generation. For every pair in the population, there must be ten drones. The empire has dealt 36,000 boonbucks for the six of us, procreating 30 drones. That doesn't count the security soldiers or the currency needed to protect us from the Noble Circle. Now, are we really going to give up another 36,000 for some piss-bloods?"

The group sneered and growled like wild heathens, gripping tightly to their money, "Never!" they cried. "End the rebellion!" they chanted.


	4. Black Market

"Your name?"

"You know my name, you git!"

"I need confirmation."

The ship left the others behind hours ago. Condesce decided it was time for a trip to a little, "black market." The men behind the desk, in their hoods and cloaks, hid their identities. They looked suspiciously at the royal's slave; he was hooked onto a leash, as if he were still for sale. They were quite impressed by his horns... and his subspecies.

"I am Her Royal Condescension, you twat."

"Thank you. Now, your I.D.?" He held out a gloved hand, gesturing toward hers.

"Ugh."

She gave him allowence to her hand, glancing nervously at her various rings, "You better not touch them, thief."

Ignoring her, the man pricked her finger with a needle. He dropped the fuschia blood into the portable scanner next to him - with a 'ding!,' her information filed up.

* * *

**TITLE: THE CONDESCE**

**AGE: UNKNOWN**

**BLOOD: PINK**

**CLASS: HIGH**

**PLACEMENT: EMPRESS**

* * *

"You're free to go. I see that you're bringing property in with you. I'll give you the V.I.P. tag, alright?" He gave her the special pass and nodded quickly to the right, marking the path to the market.

"Motherfucking finally -"

"Hey," he proceeded, "I would advise you, My Queen, to feed your slave more. You don't want the population running out, do you?"

Without a care, she dragged The Helmsman along. He observed the several rare items in the tented stores: illegal substances, body parts, small grubs without lusii. It was a surprise that they'd let their leader parade through there. Condesce meanwhile was trying to find additions to her precious ship. She supposed that picking up a few interesting things never hurt, either.

"Does Dualscar never shut up or somefin?" she asked at random, continuing her walk. After a few more silent steps, she looked back at The Helmsman. "Well? Your input, low-blood?" His heart paced faster, in a jolt. "I... I was lost in another train of thought. I'm sorry," He bowed his head in humility, "I do, indeed, believe that Dualscar takes up much of your conversation. Granted, though, he has a lot of important stuff to say." Already, he regretted his answer. He closed his eyes tightly, in embarrasment and fear of her retaliation. "Yeah, I guess so." She just turned around and proceeded to tug him further. What a relief. Anyway, they shopped around. The empress acquired some new jets and browsed the grubs that were for sale. A flustered adult troll waved his hat to gain The Condesce's attention, gesturing her over to him. "Ay, ay! Her Majesty!" he called. He was truly filthy. He had dirt in his hair and all over his cloak. To top it off, he was a green-blood. Should've guessed.

The empress shifted her eyes around before walking over to him, "What is it?" Her lips puckered out in confusion, just like she did as Meenah. "I noticed you have a rare troll on your hands!" he announced, prodding at the yellow-blood's exposed ribs. He writhed with discomfort, but made no comment. "Alright, yeah, but don't touch him. Tell me what you want, thief." She swatted his hand away. I guess she just calls everyone thieves at these conventions. "Yes, yes, of course!" he began, fumbling around with his jittery hands. "I own this grub stand, you know. I will trade as many grubs as you want for this slave. I will hand you over psychics, manipulators, geniuses; you name it, My Queen!" His eyes feasted on The Helmsman's physique and reasonably large horns. The Condesce squinted her vision at him, "Are you serious? If I wanted all of those grubs so bad, I'd kill you for it! Don't pull me into your stupid advertised trade. Those homeless grubs aren't worth the ground they're chained to!"

She angrily left with her slave, bruising his neck from over-handling. "Can you believe that idiot?" She went back to her ship, throwing her pass back to the desk. She installed the jets and placed The Helmsman back into his harness. "Up you go."

His horns sparked and wired through the tentacles, having them rise back into space's thick atmosphere. He looked at The Condesce. She obviously wasn't very fond of that man. She must've remembered him from somewhere. Her eyes were darting for an escape like crazy. "Hey," he spoke. She looked back at him with surprise. He hadn't dared to speak on his own since he'd been in her possession. "Yeah?" she asked.

"Who was that man?"

"It wasn't anyone important, that's for shore."

"I mean... Just his name."

"I dunno."

They continued their flight. The empress looked down at her feet when walking away from his position.


End file.
